


Of both worlds and of neither

by Sororising



Category: The Alliance books - E. Jade Lomax
Genre: Coming Out, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, I just have a lot of feelings about nb Sasha okay, Non-binary Sasha, Some angst, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8583775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sororising/pseuds/Sororising
Summary: She never forgets the day she tries on the armour.It’s too big. Of course it is. She bets she looks like a child playing dress-up. And it’s far from comfortable; she’s worn layers upon layers of useless fabric in some of her fancy dresses, but this weighs her down in a different way.And yet. The heaviness and discomfort should make her feel ill at ease, she thinks. That would be the normal reaction.Sasha swallows, her throat tight. She’s never been very good at normal.And she’s never felt more at home in her life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I recently read the Alliance books [(here they are! for free!),](https://ejadelomax.com/the-alliance-trilogy/) and as predicted fell in love with pretty much every character. But as a non-binary person who was assigned female at birth, I fell in love even more with Sasha. And then some googling and I discovered that the author (ink-splotch on tumblr) does indeed agree with readings of Sasha as nb [(source),](http://ink-splotch.tumblr.com/post/104560517984/part-2-i-also-wanted-to-ask-just-because-i-found) but as the books were written a while ago it isn't explicit. Which makes total sense, I didn't hear the term non-binary until maybe three years ago, despite being around LGBTQ groups for longer than that. Sasha is kind of in an even trickier position I guess as the books are set in a medieval setting and while obviously trans people will exist in that universe, as in every universe, she most likely doesn't know of their existence and so hasn't really got the language or concepts to figure herself out?
> 
> So these little interludes can be set wherever you'd like them to be in most cases, they span pre-Sneak to post-Traitor and are a little spoilery but don't revolve around any specific plot-points. It takes me a while to figure out how to write a character and this is my first non-MCU fic in literally years so hopefully Sasha isn't too out of character!
> 
> Oh, and if you're here because you subscribe to me, I highly recommend you ignore this fic and read the books instead! Or the Leagues and Legends series by the same author, which is also excellent.

She tells herself it just makes so much more sense to dress like a boy, the first time she hatches a plan to escape out into the city. Oh, there are girls mixed in among the street urchins, of course there are - sometimes they’re almost indistinguishable, really, which makes Sasha feel envious in a way she doesn’t want to examine too closely.

But - well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Dressing like a boy is just one more thing that marks her out as someone who couldn’t possibly be a princess.

That’s all it is. Really.

She tells herself that every time, until she doesn’t need to tell herself anymore; it’s just a kind of background noise. It’s okay for her to be a boy, like this, right now. It _is._

It doesn’t mean anything.

* * *

She never forgets the day she tries on the armour. 

It’s too big. Of course it is. She bets she looks like a child playing dress-up. And it’s far from comfortable; she’s worn layers upon layers of useless fabric in some of her fancy dresses, but this weighs her down in a different way.

And yet. The heaviness and discomfort should make her feel ill at ease, she thinks. That would be the normal reaction.

Sasha swallows, her throat tight. She’s never been very good at normal.

And she’s never felt more at home in her life. 

She takes the armour off much more slowly than she’d put it on. Her hands are steady, but somehow they feel like they’re shaking.

Just an experiment. That’s all.

* * *

One day, Lia calls Sasha into her bedroom.

“Mother wants me to see if any of my old gowns will fit you,” she says, completely ignoring Sasha's not-at-all subtle groan.

“I have enough dresses,” Sasha says, trying to make herself sound as insistent as she can. She sees the pile of draping satin on the bed, ribbons trailing from its edges like little snakes trying desperately to escape - okay, so she might be overreacting, just a little - and takes a step backwards.

“I think one would be more than enough for you, Sash.” 

That’s - well, that’s not entirely untrue. 

“So I can go, then?”

Lia sighs. “Honestly? I think Mother just wants us to spend more time together,” she says, and the wistful note in her voice stops Sasha from moving again.

“I guess trying on a dress wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” she says, not feeling at all convinced of her own words.

Well. She’s seen a fair bit of what the world has to offer now, and there are a lot of things that would be much, much worse. She knows that, she does. 

Which doesn’t mean she has to enjoy this.

Lia picks out a dress that Sasha can admit isn’t completely terrible. It’s not plain, exactly, but it isn’t nearly as fussy and frilly as some of the others. The sleeves don’t trail too much, and the skirt doesn’t look overly full. She could just about manage a sword-fight wearing it, if she absolutely had to.

She wonders whether she should point that out to Lia. Probably not. She doesn’t think the ease of wielding a weapon with it on is part of the criteria for choosing a dress for court. Such a pity. It might make palace life interesting, if it was.

“There.” Lia adjusts the collar, brushes down the sleeves, and spins Sasha around to face the mirror. “You're almost pretty when you don't scowl, you know,” she continues, in a teasing voice that Sasha hasn’t heard in a long time.

Sasha looks down at the floor. She refuses to meet the eyes of her reflection - she won’t see anything good there, whether Lia’s telling the truth or not.

“Sash?” Lia says, gentle as she had been back when Sasha had begged her to read yet another bedtime story – Lia had always been good at those; she'd never let her status or reputation stop her from doing all the silly voices.

“I don't want to be _pretty,”_ Sasha says, trying to make it sound fierce, defiant, hating herself just a little when her voice breaks on the last word.

She sounds like a petulant little child, she thinks, and she wants to whirl away, jump out of the window and see how good her climbing skills are getting - she wants to do anything other than stay still and listen to whatever rebuke her sister’s about to give her.

She can’t move, though. She’s still wearing the dress, and it weighs her body down so much more than the armour had.

“Oh,” is all Lia says at first. In the edge of her vision, Sasha can see her sister tilting her head to one side, in that way she does when she’s thinking hard about something. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t want that,” she says eventually. Sasha desperately wants to know what’s going through her sister’s mind, but she can’t bring herself to ask.

She can be brave. She knows she can. With a sword in her hand and an enemy in front of her, she can choke down all her fears and leap into danger. To protect the people she loves, she can always be brave.

But when the sword is out of reach and the enemy is - well, when they aren’t an enemy at all, when they _are_ someone she loves, what then?

Bravery feels much further out of reach than her sword.

“I think we should take the sleeves in,” Lia says briskly. “And get rid of one of the petticoat layers. Maybe even two.”

Sasha lifts her head. “What?” 

She can’t think of anything else to say. 

Lia smiles. “And the hem is long enough to hide those clumpy boots you never take off. It’s about the best you’re going to get, I’m afraid.”

Sasha glances down at her boots, a little defensively - they’re _sturdy,_ not _clumpy_ \- but most of her brain is occupied with the whirling thoughts that are trying to form together into one: _Lia’s on my side in this?_

“That - sounds good,” she says numbly. It does, actually. If she has to wear dresses - and she does, there’s no way around that - then it would be nice if they were fitted to her, and to the ways she might want to move around.

Lia tugs gently at Sasha’s hair. “There you go,” she says, still smiling. “Compromise. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

When Sasha leaves the room, there’s only one thought on her mind.

_Lia’s going to make such a good queen._

* * *

When Nathaniel gives her a new name, she hides the leaping little thrill of excitement-fear that rises up inside her chest underneath irritation at how old-fashioned it is. Samson, really?

But – Sam.

She likes that, in a way that scares her. Just a little. 

It's only a fake name, of course; it's not practical for her to be talking to people without one. That's all it is. She doesn't know why she never thought of inventing a different name for herself before, really; it makes a lot of sense.

 _It would have made it too real,_ a voice inside her head says. She drowns it out, focusing all her attention on trying imaginary sentences on for size, the way she’d tried the armour on.

_Hi. I’m Sam. How are you? No, it’s short for Samson, but if you call me that I’ll shove my -_

“Sam,” Nathaniel hisses, jolting her out of her thoughts.

“I’m paying attention!” 

She’d responded instantly to his calling her that, even though it’s a name she’s had for barely a few minutes. Is that strange?

Who cares if it is, she thinks later, when she has time to go over all in her head. There’s plenty of things about her people would call strange, aren’t there? Might as well add one more to the list.

* * *

Every time Sasha is forced into attending some kind of formal occasion, whether it's an important dinner, or a ball, or – worst of all – one followed by the other, she can't help but feel like everyone is staring at her.

She knows that can't be true, rationally - she’s not even the most interesting member of the royal family, and she’s good at blending into the background - but that doesn’t stop her from feeling it.

Out on the streets, she can be almost invisible when she puts her mind to it. Or if anyone does start watching her, it's usually just so they can be sure the scruffy little boy with his cap pulled low isn't up to anything, and that kind of scrutiny somehow bothers her less than the disdainful way all the courtiers watch her stumbling footsteps on the dancefloor, or the way she glances at Lia before picking up every fork to make sure she's got the right one.

Sometimes there are good ways to feel seen. Elijah sometimes watches her in a way that she knows means something - something good; she just isn’t quite ready to face up to it yet. Or to the decision she knows she’ll have to make when she does.

Lia sees her now, she thinks, in a way she hadn’t before. Or maybe she sees Lia in a new way? Whichever one it is - or maybe both - she’s glad of it.

Gabrielle has always been good at reading her, and nothing’s changed there. Sasha has a lot of secrets these days, and they sometimes itch at her like annoying little flies she can’t swat away, demanding that she pay attention to them. She’s hiding a lot from people she cares about, and it’s hard work. But Gabrielle never seems to care about any of that. Or, well, she cares, but in a way that means she just wants to help.

She doesn’t mind people seeing her when it’s people she likes. But you can’t pick and choose like that, can you?

* * *

“Do you think I'd have made a good boy?” she asks Elijah one day, casual as can be, slipping the question in after a conversation about how badly that day’s practice had gone - a couple of the Guards had used their night off to sample more than a few local ales, and this morning they’d been so slow she could have beat them both without a weapon. At the same time.

Elijah looks at her, and her heart starts beating faster – but she doesn't think she can make out anything more than a simple kind of curiosity in his eyes. She tries to make herself relax. 

Something she's never been very good at.

“I think you'd make a better boy than girl, some days,” he says. She’s good at reading Eli; she has to be, since there’s so much that she knows he’ll never say out loud, and while he’d sounded more than a little teasing, she thinks there had been truth lying under his words as well.

She doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

“Really?” she asks, not knowing quite how to ask the question she desperately wants to know the answer to.

She isn’t too sure of the question either, really, when she thinks some more about it. She just knows that there is one, and that it’s important. And very confusing.

Elijah shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe you're just contrary. I bet if you were a boy you'd want to be doing needlework, or learning how to dance without missing a step. You're a bit of both, I suppose.”

Sasha wrinkles up her nose instinctively at the thought of being someone who genuinely enjoyed things like dancing and embroidery. But underneath her surface thoughts, her mind is racing.

He hadn't meant it seriously, she knows that. She isn't even sure what she means by _it._ You can't be part-boy and part-girl, obviously, that just isn't possible.

Right?

“You look like you're thinking too hard,” Elijah says, crinkling his eyes up in that way that means he’s smiling at her but doesn’t want her to think he is.

“Am not,” she retorts on instinct, but she’s thinking almost harder than she ever has in her life. 

She needs to talk to someone who knows a lot more than she does, and who she can trust to keep a secret.

And who’ll take her seriously. 

It’s obvious, really.

* * *

“We should go to the library,” Gabrielle says, not looking at all alarmed by the stammering attempt at a sentence she’d just heard from Sasha - _I think I feel like I’m a boy sometimes and not even just when I’m training and I don’t know what to do._

Sasha just stares at her. “Is that the only thing you can think of to say?” she asks, feeling almost let-down. Not that she’d wanted Gabrielle to cry, or shout at her, or anything like that, but she’d expected something more than this - this calm, measured response.

It’s Gabrielle, she reminds herself. She really shouldn’t have predicted anything about how her little sister was going to take this.

Or, well. The book thing isn’t exactly a surprise, now she thinks about it. Though she has no idea what help the library is going to be. This doesn’t seem like the sort of problem people would write about, surely?

Gabrielle just looks at her. “No? But it’s what we should do. There’s a book I want to find. I just can’t quite remember the title.”

Sasha hops from one foot to the other. At least walking to the library is a goal, though not a very exciting one. “Alright, fine,” she says, not very gracefully. “But then we can talk about this, right?”

“The book will help us talk,” Gabrielle says, and starts walking.

That seems unlikely.

But Sasha’s made mistakes in the past, and one of them has been underestimating her little sister, and one of them has been overestimating her, or at least overestimating what she should be tasked with.

So she’s just going to trust her, this time, and let her find whatever book it is she needs.

Maybe she just needs some time to think, and this is a distraction technique. That would be understandable, really, except that if that does turn out to be the case, Sasha wishes Gabrielle would just have said it in the first place.

She’s had weeks, or months - maybe even years, she doesn’t know for sure - to start coming to terms with this idea, though most of the working-things-out had been subconscious, she thinks, hidden away in the back of her mind where it couldn’t cause too much trouble.

She isn’t going to blame her sister if she needs some time as well.

* * *

Sasha stares at the book. Her eyes aren’t focusing well enough to read right now, not after the sentence she just saw.

“So - this queen, she used to be a king?”

How is that even possible?

Gabrielle flips the page, reading more quickly than Sasha ever could, even if her brain was functioning at its absolute best.

Right now, she isn’t sure it’s functioning at all.

“Used to be a prince, not a king,” Gabrielle says absentmindedly, not taking her eyes off the book. “Everyone knew her as a woman already before her father abdicated.”

“And they didn’t _mind?”_

That just gets her a shrug. “It doesn’t look like it. The book doesn’t go into too much detail, but the author talks a lot about what an excellent ruler she was. I guess that was the important thing, for her subjects.”

“I -”

Sasha falls silent. She has absolutely no idea what she wants to say right now.

Gabrielle looks up. “Anyway, my point was, clearly people’s bodies aren’t always the be-all and end-all.” She says it so matter-of-factly, as though it’s obviously true now they’ve found a book with it in.

She feels like she needs to sit down somewhere quiet and think for a few minutes. Possibly several hours.

There is one thing she has to point out, though. “I don’t feel like a boy all the time, though,” she says, frowning at the book. “This queen, she just switched. I’m - stuck in the middle, or something.”

It’s like everything ties into her double life. Her ventures into the city - she can creep around as much as she likes, but she’ll never truly be a part of life there. Knowing every alleyway and hidden corner doesn’t make it her home, not really. 

And then there’s her life in the palace, the one that’s supposed to be her real one. She should fit in here, in the exact same way she _shouldn’t_ out in the city. 

“That sounds confusing,” Gabrielle says, her eyes a little sad and a little too knowing. “But I don’t think it means there’s anything wrong with you. I’ll do some more research, okay?”

“Alright,” Sasha says, suddenly feeling too tired to think about this anymore. “I - thank you.”

There’s palace and city and Sasha and Sam and dresses and rags and - and it’s all too much, she shouldn’t have even tried to figure this out in the first place.

Surely nothing this overwhelming can be a good thing?

* * *

She tries ignoring it for a while.

She still has to wear her boy’s clothes, of course, because there’s a lot more important things for her to be worrying about than head-muddling feelings about her identity, and some of those things involve sneaking and spying. 

But she tries to stop making up conversations where everyone knows her only as Sam in her head, and she takes her disguise off as soon as she’s back inside her bedroom in the palace, and she changes the subject when Gabrielle tries to bring up the queen who used to be a prince again.

It doesn’t last. She doesn’t know why she’d expected it to. The thoughts creep back, and she’s starting to wonder if they’ve been there her whole life, in one way or another. 

So maybe she should accept them already, she tells herself sternly. What’s the worst that could happen?

Of course, if she fully accepts this, she’s going to have to tell people. She’s hiding enough from her friends, she doesn’t want to add to that list. 

She can do that, though. She’s getting very good at doing things that scare her.

And this really, really scares her.

* * *

She usually doesn’t wear her disguise for too long. Maybe she should think of a new name for it, if she's being honest with herself - after all, are clothes still a disguise when you feel like they’re reflecting your true self?

That’s too deep a question for someone this tired, she thinks.

It’s been almost a full night and a day, now, and she’s realising that she usually only wears her scruffy outfit for a few hours at a time. Mostly because she needs to check in at the palace frequently, so that nobody does anything awkward like raise the alarm and send out a search party for a missing princess.

Her chest is really starting to ache.

She hasn’t ever stopped to wonder if binding her chest might be bad for her. She just _has_ to, both because it helps her blend in as a boy, and because it’s so much more practical when she’s fighting.

And maybe, just a little bit, because she likes the way it feels.

With a lot of swearing and awkwardness, she manages to loosen the material around her chest enough so that she’s breathing free and easy again. She’s going to have to be more careful about it next time; she doesn’t want to be distracted in a fight or a getaway chase.

She doesn’t consider just stopping. Especially not after telling Gabrielle about how confused she is. She’s starting to wonder - well, to hope - that maybe this isn’t something that’s wrong with her. It could just be something that’s a part of her, neither good or bad.

Just another thing that makes her who she is.

* * *

Explaining it to Will takes a while, mostly because he keeps interrupting her to ask questions.

Or make completely unexpected offers.

“If you need more boys clothes, they’re easy to get,” he says casually. “And I can’t give my old ones to Gregory anymore, he keeps _growing.”_ He says that in a way that implies Gregory should just stop already.

“I think I’m okay,” she says, finding it hard to meet his eyes for some reason. 

“Do you want us to call you Sam more often?”

“I - when I’m in my boy’s clothes, definitely. I don’t know about other times.”

She knows that it isn’t just about clothes, but sometimes that seems like the easiest way to think about it. Sometimes she feels like a girl - albeit an unconventional one - and sometimes a boy, and having the right outfit helps a lot. She doesn’t even hate her dresses all the time, now that she’s figured a little more out about herself. Well, she still detests the stupid ones, the ones with more embroidery and lace than material, but that’s just common sense.

Will looks a bit uncertain still, but he’s not laughed at her once, and all his questions sounded just curious, nothing more than that. “Okay,” he says, not seeming to mind that half of her answers have been some variation of _I don’t really know._ “And – do you want us to, um. To call you _he,_ as well, on those days?”

Sasha blinks. That hadn't actually occurred to her. “I don't think so,” she says slowly, trying to think the idea through. “No. I - not right now, anyway?”

She has enough to adjust to. Including the fact that everyone in her life is seemingly either very, very accepting, or - alternatively - too wary of her to admit to it if they aren’t.

She’s pretty sure it’s the first one. She hopes so, anyway. Will can be a good liar, but she’s pretty sure she could see through him if he was employing that particular skill right now.

So. She has people on her side. She let people in, and they didn’t let her down.

Elijah would be so proud, she thinks wryly to herself.

* * *

Gregory is the easiest, which when she thinks about it later isn’t very surprising.

“That makes sense,” is all he says, in a thoughtful sort of voice.

Sasha, who’d been gearing up for a fight - not a physical one, obviously, but still - feels almost deflated for a second.

“That’s it?” she asks, staring hard at him, trying to figure out if he’s just agreeing with her to be kind, or something like that. “Even I don’t think it makes sense!”

She realises the truth of that as soon as the words have left her mouth. It still seems so odd to her, that she could somehow be these two things at the same time, or sometimes one and other times another, or maybe neither of them at all but something else instead.

Boy and girl. They’re opposites. It just doesn’t make any sense.

And yet she’s here, and she’s stared these thoughts down long enough to know that she isn’t imagining them, they really are there. She really is here.

So.

“Why does it have to make sense?” Gregory asks, in that mild tone that usually means he’s saying something that sounds profound if you tilt it one way, and just plain obvious if you flip it around.

It’s a very annoying tone.

And Gregory is a very good friend, she reminds herself.

“I don’t know,” she says, knowing she sounds grumpy but not caring. “Shouldn’t everything in life make sense?”

He hums to himself. “Maybe. That sounds pretty boring, though.” He smiles at her, and she feels jealous for a moment, of the way he lets his emotions be shown so openly. “And maybe I don’t know you as well as Will does,” he says. “But you don’t seem like someone that’s very good at living a boring life.”

That’s - okay, that’s true. Technically. Though most of the not-boring parts haven’t been her fault, to be fair. There have been conspiracies, and murders, and secret plots to foil.

And Guard training, and passageways, and sneaking out of windows in the middle of the night.

All of which had been decisions she’d made, and kept on making without hesitation.

“Shut up,” she says, smiling back at him. “When did you get so smart?”

Gregory smiles again, but it’s a sad one, this time, and she gets the feeling he’s hiding something from her. She doesn’t want to push him, he let her reveal her secret on her own time, after all, but she makes a mental note to keep checking in on him.

She needs her friends, now more than ever.

And she wants to be there for them, if they need her too.

* * *

“Sasha? Sam?”

She ignores the voice. Her bed is warm, and maybe it’s not got the silken sheets or feather mattress that her old one had, but it’s cosy enough. And she really doesn’t feel like leaving it just yet. It’s still dark outside, for goodness sake.

“Samsha?”

That's a bit more difficult to ignore.

She rolls over in bed, towards – oh, Elijah, of course. It's always Elijah. “You’re no better at naming people than your brother,” she says, making her voice sound as regal as she possibly can. She isn't anywhere near as good as Lia is at it, but she's not bad. Eli's amused little snort can testify to that.

“I'm sure I can come up with something even worse,” he says, and she knows that won't be an empty threat. She isn't even angry at the thought – secretly, she loves that they can tease each other, these days, without all the doubts and worries about the future creeping in to halt the words in their throats.

“What is it?” she asks, knowing that if it had been urgent he would have made sure she was up and fully dressed already.

“Oh, nothing,” he says, casual as anything, poking her mattress with his foot. “Just found a new route over some of your favourite rooftops. And it looks like it’s going to be a nice dawn.”

“You did _not,”_ she says, sitting up and wondering why her boots aren’t in their usual spot by the wall. “I know all the best routes already.” Oh, there they are, underneath the window. She remembers now; they’d got damp last night and she’d been hoping they’d dry out fully if there was a bit of a draft.

“Sure,” Eli says, voice heavy with amusement. “Or should I say you _did_ know all the best routes, until last week, when the city built a nice high fence between two houses that were a bit too far for us to jump between.”

Damn.

“Lead the way,” she says, trying not to let him see how bright her smile is.

* * *

There are always people awake, in a city. Even early in the morning, when only the keenest eyes can make out the first pale streaks of dawn. 

But there aren’t always people who look up. 

Those people are rarer than they should be. People keep busy, especially in a city, and _busy_ too often means keeping your eyes on the ground, or on the dishes you’re washing, or potatoes you have to peel, or stitches you don’t want to drop.

But if someone was in the habit, if they liked to keep an eye on the skies and stars, well.

They might have seen two figures, climbing nimbly - or one of them nimbly, at least, one just climbing - over the rooftops, balancing on gables and steadying themselves with the occasional helpful tree. The first figure is clearly male, the watcher would think, but the second, smaller one - well, they can’t quite tell, but they doubt a girl would be that level of foolhardy, so they assume it’s a boy.

The figures move out of sight quickly enough, anyway, until they seem like nothing but an odd kind of dream.

* * *

“Thanks, Eli,” Sam says, watching the sky fade between a pale orange and the kind of pink that’s exactly the same shade as a certain redhead’s face when he blushes. 

Sam decides not to point that out. This is a nice, peaceful moment - and those shouldn’t be taken for granted. That’s a lesson they’ve all learned the hard way. 

“Have to keep you entertained somehow,” Eli says, leaning back against the chimney pot that’s helping him keep his balance.

He worries, sometimes, about Sam missing the old days, wanting to go back to a simpler life - except it hadn’t been simple, had it, and this life is more than enough for right now.

Sam smiles at the sky, knowing that Eli will know who it’s really for. “No you don’t.”

They watch until every inch of the sky is alight.

**Author's Note:**

> Aw, so many emotions. Maybe not everyone would be accepting immediately but I'm in a good mood so in my head they would be! I'm bad at remembering little details of books so I probably got a few things wrong, but the point was to explore a nice coming out story and make myself happy, and I achieved that so :)
> 
> My post-fic headcanon (if I can have one about my own fic?) is that at some point Gabrielle is going to point out that 'they' can be used perfectly well as a singular pronoun (though having said that, plenty of nb people are just fine with their originally-assigned pronouns). And Sasha/Sam will never, ever use Samsha as a name, they will stick to either Sasha or Sam depending on how they feel.
> 
> Feedback and concrit is always welcome!


End file.
